


The Summertime Static

by Cthulhucorp (cthulhucorp)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Body Horror, Ghosts, Gore, Horror, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 06:04:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19223128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthulhucorp/pseuds/Cthulhucorp





	The Summertime Static

The smell of charred skin wafts through your room late one spring eve. Pulled from pleasant sleep to the sudden dying of the cricket’s chirps sounding through your thin apartment walls and the open window. The once warm room drops in temperature, drives your sleep lagged mind to scramble for the blankets, pulling them up, pulling them closer as you fall further from sleep but no further from dream.

It takes a minute, but eventually you see it there. The source of the smell. It stands at the foot of your bed, blackened and red skin falls from his gnarled and crooked limbs and it stares at you through a lidless blackened holes, wet jaw threatening to fall from its skull of littered tufts of burnt white hair.

Your fear is mute as it regards you in frozen silence, as if time itself has come to a stand still. As if nothing else exists outside the four walls of your bedroom. You feel the need to run, to yell, or perhaps the need to reach for the gun in your drawer, or, as if it’ll help, pull the blankets up above your face so at the very least you don’t have to look at the mangled monstrosity at the foot of your bed, watching and waiting to the soft sound of tv static.

Somewhere in the distance a train horn blares, and you remember to breathe, and all at once the static dies down to flickers at the crickets chirp once more to the soft winds of the late summer months, accompanied by the quiet buzz of your phone as the screen lights up a soft glow. It takes a minute to compose yourself, to breathe, to blame the unreality all on dream and fantasy, the overactive imagination you’ve had since you were a child, or maybe just a bit too much whiskey before bed, and then you reach to the nightstand and pick up your phone.

It’s a text from your partner, about a body found on the beach, and with the incident not quite shaken from mind you rise from your bed, turn on every light in your apartment, and even once you’re dressed and out the door they remain on, chasing away any remnants of the nightmare that still drift throughout the rooms. You drive, fast, but there’s still something haunting you. Something chasing after. And though you know it’s blind fear, your mind still muddled from sleep, perhaps, you swear you spot the fleshy red and charcoal black in your rear-view mirror as you drive to the beach. Your paranoia should lift as your mind slides from sleepy fog to the clarity necessary for work, but the sense of impending doom follows you out of the door of your car, trails after as you flash your badge and step onto the scene, illuminated by the red and blue flashes of police car lights and hastily set up lamps.

Your partner, a man twice your age and half as jaded, greets you shortly thereafter with a “Good morning, Mr. Honda,” that you reply to with a simple husky “Hardly,” as he leads you to the body itself.

It sits there, nestled among the rocks like a secret treasure, and your blood runs cold at the sight.

The corpse stares at you with barren and lidless eyes. It’s teeth jut from a jaw close to falling off, and the white tufts of hair on it’s scalp are burnt and charred. The smell of burning skin hits you like a train, and somewhere in the distance, you swear you hear tv static.


End file.
